Tales of the Bird Man: Roxy

It’s part of her life. It has always been part of her life. At least, as far back as she can remember, and she can certainly remember, because she knows who I am. When the earthquake comes, it is nearly always followed in quick succession by another, and another, sometimes more, before calm returns and she lies on her back or side, breathing heavily. Within a minute or two, though, she is up on her feet and demonstrating her determination to survive and enjoy life. The seizures cause no pain. The risk of permanent brain damage exists if epilepsy is left untreated but, once medication has begun, the primary thing to watch out for is injury. It is all too easy to bash your head or bruise yourself during a seizure that has you thrashing around all over the place, insensate.

This is why Roxy, a bird, has nothing in her cage that could prove physically harmful to her. She has soft bedding under foot and needs no toys, other than a mirror and bell. The cage, despite being what it is, a construction designed to contain, is not a prison, for Roxy spends many hours each day out of it, on my shoulder or hiding inside my dressing gown or riding on the backs of the pet cats she sees as members of her flock. Rather, the cage is her refuge, a place where she is always safe and can go to sleep without feeling vulnerable or exposed; and, while the cats are generally well-behaved towards her, contrary to their own natures, I can rest easy myself knowing none of them will give in to their carnivorous instincts and hurt Roxy when I’m not around, if she’s in her cage. It’s unlikely they ever would. They show every sign of accepting her as a family member and, therefore, untouchable. I don’t believe in tempting fate, though – especially when it comes to gambling with the life of a much-loved pet. No way.

I don’t call the cage a cage in general conversation, of course. I refer to it as a palace. After all, Roxy gives every indication of believing herself to be of a royal lineage. Much imagination is brought to bear in talking to, and about, Roxy. Undoubtedly, very dull people with limited minds will see me as completely crackers, living up to the reputation we authors have for strangeness. And I freely acknowledge, though never admit for an admission should be reserved for crimes only, that it is indeed very strange to have a pet chicken.

Yes. A pet chicken. I have many chickens that, while pets, live the lives you’d expect them to live: outdoors, roaming free, digging up worms and sleeping in a coop. Roxy, however, through no fault of anyone, cannot live the normal life of a chicken. But she is happy. I make sure of that, every day. A chicken needs a flock, so it’s easy to see why, for Roxy, that flock is composed of one tall human and five cats in a coop called a house that we all see as home.

Michael Jackson had his monkey. This author has his one of a kind, very special, pet chicken. Officially, Roxy is a bantam breed – that is to say, miniature – and is a Poland hen (or Polish if you’re in the US). Polands are renowned for their gentle characters and zany antics, being kept more as ornamental (that is to say, pretty) birds than for meat – never for meat, they don’t have much on them – or eggs, although the eggs are edible, just small, and you don’t get any in the winter months. Unofficially, I refer to Roxy as a nano- or micro-chicken, because she has two conditions, only one of which seems to cause her trouble, that being epilepsy. The other is dwarfism. Roxy is roughly only a third of the size a Poland hen should be. The world’s smallest chicken breed is the Serama, and I have three of those – a cockerel and two hens. Roxy is the same size as the smallest of those two Serama hens, maybe just a smidgen smaller still.

Whether dwarfism is more prevalent among Polands, I cannot say or even guess, although I know epilepsy is common. Polands have big mop-top feathers on their heads, and any breed of chicken with that kind of look comes with a built-in design flaw: a hole in the top of the skull. If it is pecked or hit, the effect is worse than the Vulcan neck pinch of Star Trek: while Spock can fell a man into unconsciousness, a blow to the head can instanteously kill a Poland chicken or result in lasting brain damage.

I don’t think Roxy was hit on the head by another chicken, nor did she fall and bang her head. Quite early on in her development – I hatched a number of Poland eggs under a Dorking hen and a Silkie hen, they shared mothering duties – I noticed that Roxy simply wasn’t growing as fast as her siblings. I first saw her have a seizure when she was about six weeks old.

Roxy doesn’t know my name; rather, she knows the part I play in her life. The fact that I am a man is irrelevant; to Roxy, I am the mother hen. The protector. The person she trusts. Like all animals that have been domesticated and brought inside our homes, Roxy is infantile, although not deliberately made so. As with cats and dogs being forever kittens and puppies in our company, Roxy, being a pet bird, is a forever chick.

Roxy is aware of her own existence, of course she is. She knows her name, despite not knowing mine. She seems to have learned that my parents get referred to as ‘Nana and Grandad’, although I suspect she sees ‘Nana and Grandad’ as a destination rather than two individual human beings. That’s because, in much the same way as a dog recognises ‘walkies’, Roxy perks up if I say to her ‘let’s go visit Nana and Grandad’ because that’s the cue for her carry basket to come out, followed by a three-quarter-hour trip in the car with me. My father, who is 92, greatly benefits from these visits, not only, I am sure, for seeing one of his sons but also because he gets to pet and fuss Roxy. My father and mother are both much too old now to be burdened with the responsibility of a pet full-time but the ability to show tenderness towards Roxy is, I think, a positive contribution to their lives – and mine, because I like to see my father, especially, smiling as Roxy walks up his arm and perches on his shoulder like the strangest parrot you’d ever see.

Roxy is capable of making choices, decisions – do I go this way, shall I wander over there, I like this, I don’t like this. When you’ve spent a lot of time in her company, as I have, you come away from each encounter with a deepening sense that this tiny, disabled bird is far more complex than your average person would imagine or even entertain as a notion.

There are those for whom the idea of keeping a pet chicken, regardless of Roxy’s circumstances being exceptional and rare, as completely ridiculous; something to laugh at, to mock, to pour scorn over. Being frank, people like that make me sick. First of all, it’s none of their damn business what pets other people have, so long as animal welfare is being maintained at a high standard all the time. But more importantly, I rail against this bad attitude because it simply doesn’t make any sense. I mean, almost every day I see people walking their dogs of all shapes and sizes; the majority of those people are obviously responsible and love their animals, because they bring with them plastic bags to scoop up the poop their pets produce, and bin it. Now, while I see this as entirely appropriate behaviour, I could choose to interpret it in another light, from a different perspective. I could say, how ridiculous it is to follow a dog around with a plastic bag to pick up its shit. I might add, a chicken’s poop can be put to good use in the garden, where as a dog’s crap certainly can’t, lest it contaminate growing vegetables and fruit or, worse, infect your children with strange worms and invisible parasitical organisms. That is, after all, why you follow your dog around with a plastic bag in the first place. To ensure the safety of others.

Even though some of my best friends are feline, you could see the cat litter tray as a total absurdity. How many of us keep one of these toilets on the kitchen floor, and are prepared to change it regularly while holding our noses? And let’s not even mention putting up with fur balls, disembowelled mouse gifts and more.

My point is, it can be argued that keeping any pets at all is stupid or wrong or crazy. And there are people who do think that way, viewing pets as unnecessary, troublesome and difficult to manage when you want a holiday. Which is fine. They’re not wrong. The reason they’re not wrong is because their view is what it is. My view, shared with millions of others around the world, is that pets of all kinds can be very rewarding to keep. Responsibility for their care is a joy, most of the time. The heartache that comes when they die is only a full stop at the end of a long and happy sentence and, beyond that period marker, we keep the memories forever, being shaped by them, influenced by them, even, in our careers or whether we go on to keep other pets, what pets we go on to get. And we’re not wrong, either, because our view of the world is what it is.

Ultimately, what bugs me is the judging. Enough already. Mind your own. If you think keeping a pet chicken is daft, I feel sorry for you having such a closed mind.

10 thoughts on “Tales of the Bird Man: Roxy”

Oooh I can’t wait for the next installment, I think it’s going to be very interesting watching this come together, and an insight onto the writing process.
You hint there at, what I call, ‘chicken therapy’, which I suppose is the joyful experience of bonding with an animal, particularly a chicken, and which I find lifts the soul. I have had friends come to stay at my house for a week for a bout of home cooking, good company and ‘chicken therapy’ and it has worked wonders for them. I hope this theme is developed during the book, I’m pretty sure it will be.

ShirleyAlexander Thank you! It’s my hope the book will appeal to anyone who loves interesting stories about animal companions. The market is awash with books about amazing dogs and cats – I thought it was time someone put chickens in the spotlight and showed how affectionate and fun and interesting they are. x

Brilliant!! I know how u feel about the strange way ppl react etc to a “strange” pet like Roxy! I have a 14yr old pet pigeon called Charlie!! I hand reared her on canary egg food from about 2-3days old. She sits on my shoulder, attacks my dogs & cats etc & I think she see me as her mate! Shes been sitting on a plastic egg for about 4yrs now, (to stop her laying her own eggs as shes an old girl got), but when im about is the only time she’ll leave her nest! She too has cage but yhe door is never closed & she has a lge bedroom to walk r flutter around as she cant fly much anymore after a stroke about 5yrs ago. Her cage is just for her bowls & nest to sit, its covered over with bid blanket to stop any drafts etc.
I think its brilliant that u have her as pet in ur home!! Wish more ppl wud see how sometimes the strange things make the best pets!! (Obviously big cats etc are not included in that statement! They need to stay in the wild)

I too, live with two sweet Polish ladies, Linda and Yoko. Linda has had a mild seizure disorder since she was a baby. She seems to have outgrown the worst of it, with only a few absence seizures from time to time. She is well looked after by her sister, her two roosters, two kitties and two parrots, as well as a loving dad. She and the whole brood live in the house with us during the cold Minnesota winters, as have all of my chickens over the years. I work for a chicken rescue, and can vouch for the fact that they make the most amazing companions.

Thank you for sharing the story of your sweet Roxy and for loving her as she is and thinking outside the box on what a friend really is. I’m glad that you have each other.

Thank you too, for sharing your chickens with us. Roxy’s seizures are quite seismic and very draining but I hope she might heal from them as she gets older. I love all my birds but Roxy really is my baby. There’ll be much more of her throughout the book. Polands are prone to seizures, I think, although dwarfism is somewhat rarer. It gladdens my heart to see Roxy mature against all odds.

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books I’ve read

A student playwright working with a chain-smoking gothic diva, a perpetual stoner, a director who likes Elaine Paige and a nymphomaniac, polyamorous self-harmer. What could possibly go wrong? Available in paperback and for Amazon Kindle.

The ideal introduction to keeping chickens as pets in towns and cities. Everything the prospective urban chicken-keeper needs to know is covered. Available in large-format glossy paperback, ebook for Amazon Kindle, epub for other e-readers and as an interactive iBook for Apple devices.

I'm the author of myfibromyalgia: one man's experience of living with chronic illness, available in ebook and paperback from July 2018. I also wrote the bestselling Chickens As Pets - Your Definitive Guide to Keeping Pet Chickens, available in print, ebook and as an interactive iBook for Apple devices. My first novel WOOF! is available in paperback and ebook. I have a few poetry collections out as well, and you can read my latest poems on Tumblr.
I live in Yorkshire, England, where I maintain a happy flock of animals that includes chickens, cats and two long-lived terrapins.
Anything else you want to know, please ask.